To Each his Own is Beautiful
by Martha van Vires
Summary: A girl who puzzles both the Holmes brothers. Who can read and play them as nobody had before. Rated M just in case I decide to be naughty :)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello **** So... I kinda watch too much TV and as I re-watched some movies and, well obviously Sherlock, and an idea popped into my head. My OC is a cross somewhere in between Tony Stark, Sherlock and Moriarty. She's on the side of angels though. Just cunning enough to keep the Holmes' on their toes. I still haven't decided who'll she end up with, Mycroft or Sherlock, kinda can't decide who I like more. Can she keep both maybe? Or you can decide – just leave a message and we'll see who'll win ;) Anyway, all comments will be appreciated. **

**As always – I don't own anything. All things you somehow recognise belong to their respective copyright owners. I'm just playing with them for a bit. **

Carolyn Smithson was happily trotting down the sidewalk with her groceries when she noticed two men in suits and shades shoving a nicely dressed man into the back of a car. It was late autumn afternoon in London and it had been a rather cloudy day. She thought the shades were strange at first but then decided they were an attempt to cover their identity. She supposed it might be a kidnapping. They probably didn't want their faces recognized. Oddly enough, even though they scanned the street before forcing the man into the car they didn't notice her.

The men in suits jumped into the car after their victim and the car drove off. It drove at a surprisingly slow pace for a kidnapping, she thought. She dropped her groceries on the sidewalk and run into the alley where her bike was conveniently propped against the nearby wall. She dug into her bag and took out w pair of glasses and a headphone. She pushed the headphone into her right ear and put the glasses on her nose.

'Activation sequence protocol IGOR' she murmured and her glasses flashed with numbers as her field of vision was momentarily obstructed. The screen of her spectacles cleared and only some small boxes full of numbers remained in her peripheral vision.

'Good afternoon Miss Smithson' a cultured voice filtered into her ear. 'Any specific instructions for this afternoon?' it inquired.

'Igor accesses my phone's memory and retrieve a photograph I took a few moments ago. Trace the number plate from my general current location and track its progress. Use government CCTV footage of the city if required.' She shot of the instructions while hurrying her bike through narrow streets that run parallel to the main street the car must have took.

'Shall I display GPS tracking for you Miss Smithson?' the voice asked helpfully

'Yes, also mark the progress of the vehicle in question and try to establish possible locations. Pursuit protocols in place.'

'Certainly' Igor replied.

A transparent map of her route flashed in her field of vision with a darker blue dot marking the car.

'Igor estimate the chances of a successful overtake. Can I catch up to them?' She was breathing steadily although she was speeding as fast as she could make her bike go. Thankfully those little streets were rather empty this time of day. She had to pass into some more crowded streets though if she wanted to catch that car. For now Igor was using the public security surveillance to track it.

'Miss Smithson, the car entered the old industrial part of the city, there are some old warehouses in the area that have been abandoned for decades. It is probable they will head that way. The problem is the area is generally not equipped in industrial cameras and we may encounter problems with tracking the target's progress. The proposed alternative is the available satellite live feed footage of the district.'

'Use all resources at your disposal to locate the target' She ordered as she speeded past residents and tourists alike, a few choice insults shouted after her as she barely managed to avoid any collisions. As she turned into another small alley she could hear the sound of a whistle being blown as a bobby shouted after her. She rode full-speed along the faint lines of the map Igor displayed for her. She lost the bobby soon enough and was riding along an increasingly dingy neighbourhood.

'Miss Smithson, the car entered one of the old warehouse buildings. I would suggest continuing on foot as otherwise your progress may attract attention.' Igor's voice filtered into her ear helpfully.

She was slightly winded by now. Her heavy jumper was nice when she went out for a walk to the grocer's but now she was too warm, even though she only wore a rather thin dress underneath. Her soft leather shoes didn't make a sound as she walked hurriedly down dark alleys and towards the large warehouse two blocks away.

'Shall I notify the police miss Smithson?' Igor asked.

'No, not yet. But be ready to do so momentarily if I ask. We'll probably need to get them here anyway.'

As she walked along the street an idea stuck her 'Igor, deploy the drone. The one equipped in a thermal camera. 'Certainly Miss Smithson' a moment of silence and then 'deployed. It shall arrive approximately in 3 to 4 minutes'

'Perfect, just as I'll get there. When it does get here, Igor, use it to estimate the number of possible targets and their location. In the meantime try to prepare a map of the place. See if you can find the blueprints of this building in the city records.'

Following the route still displayed in front of her she came to a rather large storage facility. It was obviously abandoned, at least a decade, going by the general state of disrepair of the building. As she crept carefully along the wall of an old tenement-house, she tried to observe, find a possible way inside and waited for Igor to give her the visuals for the building. She saw the tiny dot that was the drone as it flew over the building, unnoticed.

'The visuals are ready Miss Smithson. Shall I display them?'

'Yes, please' she replied quietly.

The real building was momentarily obscured as the faintly blue outline of the structure flashed before her eyes. Twelve targets were marked, five unmoving, spread out around a larger hall, one immobile, roughly in the centre of the space and the last one pacing back and forth in front of the unmoving dot. Five were moving around in certain strategic points of the building.

She quickly found a possible route into the building and crept through a hole in the fencing. She jumped, reaching the sill of the window. She propped herself up and using first some old wiring and then some old pipes she climbed to a broken window of the second storey.

Minding her steps she crept along a corridor and looked around for the ventilation shaft outlet. She pulled something closely resembling a knife from her bag. She crouched down and pressed a button on the side of the device. The edge light up with blue light and she used her laser cutter to quietly get rid of the grating. She carefully climbed in the shaft and again reaching into the bag pulled out a small pack of special adhesive putty and put the grating back in place. It would keep for an hour or so.

'Igor, is the drone equipped with any weapons?' She asked

'Only the small amount of tranquilising darts' replied the voice in her ear.

'Can it in any way reach at least some of the men patrolling the building?'

'Only three out of the five moves along windows' replied Igor.

'How high is the rating of a successful shot?'

'Approximately 67% in the first two cases and 73 in the third'

'Calculate the best range and timing and have them down Igor'

'Certainly, miss Smithson'

She continued to crawl down the shaft to the railings above the hall where the man in the nice suit was being held. Luck was on her side so far, as she has gone unnoticed. Better yet there was no grating on the other end of the shaft. She climbed out carefully. The thick pipes that run the length of the hall just below the ceiling provided her with a passage. Carefully she climbed them and as soundlessly as possible she moved towards the centre, just over the man she could now see tied to a chair. The five guards were turned towards the three doors to the hall and weren't paying much attention to the two men in the centre of the room. A tall dark-haired man was still pacing in front of his prisoner, rather nervously she noticed.

'You won't meet my demands and you won't talk. What am I to do with you?' wondered the pacing man out loud. 'Maybe I should start cutting your fingers off to show you I'm serious' He mused arrogantly.

Carolyn never liked bullies. She hated them in fact. She spent a substantial amount of time being scolded as a child for beating up the pest at school. As she grew up she invented better ways of dealing with nasty little monsters who thought they could intimidate people for fun of frighten them into doing things they didn't want to do.

As she watched the man pull out a big nasty knife and walk towards his still bound victim, she quietly pulled out a square box and a gun out of her bag. She pulled a length of metal cord from the smallish box-like thing and secured it around a sort of faucet she could see not far from her on the pipe. She checked to see if the knot would hold and it was solid. Putting the box aside she took the gun out and pulled the safety off. The soft sound went unheard by the guards as the man with the knife yelled 'start talking!' at the gentleman in the suit.

'Igor, aiming aid protocols' she murmured quietly, but the sensitive microphone caught her words. The displayed visuals disappeared for a moment and then her sight was improved by the digital enhancement of the screen. Her aim was displayed on her screen and she pointed the little dot at the guards neck, where Igor placed a target sign she pushed the trigger and silently the small tranquilising dart lodged itself close to the main artery on the man's neck. She shot four more shots in quick succession and all met their targets. Two men hissed and swatted at their necks the other three haven't even noticed. As if on cue all five crumpled to the floor. The man with the knife exclaimed 'What the fu...' And turned. She used that moment to grab the gun in one hand the handle of the small box in the other and jumped down. She landed silently and gracefully just in front of the sitting man. She pointed her gun at the man who was just turning back. His expression stunned. She smiled at him politely, pointed her gun and shot him. He managed to grab the dart and pull it out but just as he was smiling triumphantly and reaching for his own gun he fell face first to the floor.

She cut of the cord put the safety back on and put the things back into her bag. Turning back she saw a look of utter surprise on the man's face. She smiled reassuringly and turned aside to ask Igor 'How many of the guards are neutralized?'

'Four, miss Smithson. The three targets and one who came to check on them'

'Impressive, Igor'

'Thank you Miss Smithson'

'You may now notify the force. They will want to clean the place. Display the location of the final guard'

She noticed the last guard was running for the hall. She grabbed the chair the man sat on and moved him out of the way should the man come in bearing a gun. Standing behind a pillar she pulled out the gun and waited. She observed her screen and just as he was about to run in tensed in preparation. The man came into the room at a run but halted as he noticed the bodies on the floor. He looked wildly around but noticing neither Carolyn nor the man on the chair moved to check the bodies for a pulse as he saw no blood. As he knelt by his supposed leader Carolyn Aimed and shot at his neck from the back. The dart hit unnoticed and a moment later the man joined his companions in oblivion.

She sighed.

'The police should be arriving in approximately 5 to 10 minutes, Miss Smithson. Perhaps it would be wise to retreat?' Igor informed her.

'First I must check if the man is injured'

She moved back to the man, who sat there motionless and quiet, observing her. She noticed that for a man who was just kidnapped, threatened and judging by the bruise forming on his cheek also beaten he was exceptionally calm. She pulled out her cutter she kneeled by him to free his legs and then moved behind him to cut the rope around his wrists. He was about to stand up but she pushed him back down and he sat down obediently and without a word. She moved to face him and smiled reassuringly. She lightly touched his cheek and he flinched. He also looked surprised again as she said

'Don't worry, the police are on their way, you'll be fine.' She pulled out a small packet that was a first aid kit and tended to his bruised cheek. She disinfected the skin and put a cooling balm on it. The she put it away and hearing the sirens in the distance coming nearer decided to disappear. As she was about to move to the door the man caught her arm and she turned to look at him.

He regarded her with interest and asked 'you have no idea who I am, do you?' She looked at him again, and replied 'you're obviously rather wealthy. Probably a government job. Not very brawny but you weren't afraid, so you probably knew someone would be looking for you. Possibly coming to get you. No I don't know who you are but I suppose you're important in some way or another' she said calmly.

'Then why did you help me? Do you often come to such places and armed no less?' his grip tightened a bit 'or are you perhaps working for someone?' he said looking at her glasses with narrowed eyes.

'As it happens, I saw you being taken. I followed. Then I helped because I thought you were just a poor mugging victim. And I don't work for anybody. I'm my own employer.' She said tugging her arm out of his grasp.

'His eyebrows went up. 'With all that high tech equipment you want me to believe you are not an agent of some kind?' he sounded faintly disbelieving.

'What I am sweetie' she said, a bit annoyed now, 'is rich, paranoid and too curious for my own good' she said as she moved to the door. She could hear police cars parking in the front yard.

As she opened the door she looked over her shoulder and said 'I don't do things like this too often, bit busy for that. But as to me helping you? You're welcome' And she run of leaving the man standing and starting after her. A small smile tugging at his thin lips.

He turned towards another door as police officers piled into the hall.

This was interesting.

This was a puzzle.

He liked puzzles.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft Holmes was rarely surprised. And it was an even rarer occasion that left him intrigued. The fact that one of his operatives turned rogue and kidnapped him as he walked back to the office from lunch (a rare thing as well to spontaneously decide to take a stroll) when a car, deceivingly similar to his own usual means of transportation, pulled up next to him and two thugs jumped out to push him into the back seat. That didn't surprise him. The fact that if was Richardson who betrayed him, annoyed him but also did not surprise him. He was sure that the operatives still remaining faithful to him would find him in the space of an hour. He was not surprised by the threats of violence. At all.

And he wasn't surprised when suddenly all of Richardson's thugs crumbled to the floor. No. He wasn't surprised when a pretty young woman dropped in front of him and took down Richardson himself. No he was not surprised at the fact that she pulled his chair out of line of sight and took out the remaining guard. Not at all surprised. Try flabbergasted. Shocked. Stupefied. Yes. Especially when he got a good look at her. She was about 25, more or less. Looked to be a university student. Her built was rather petite. She was considerably shorter than him. She looked like a delicate, fragile girl. Who just a moment ago took out a small group of domestic terrorists.

'_For God's sake_!' thought Mycroft '_She's wearing a dress_!' And she was. A light floral pattern on a soft looking delicate fabric. Over it she had a thick jumper that somehow made her look even more petite. Her hair was rather long. It fell in vibrantly red waves over her shoulders.

She smelled nice too. Of something floral but with an underlying note of citrus. Fresh. Sweet.

She was the type of girl he never had any dealings with apart from the occasional tea at his mother's when his mother would insist on inviting the daughters of her friends in hope of finally setting him up with somebody. In his experience this kind of girl prattled on about charity galas, fashion and garden designs. Girls like that didn't go around old dingy warehouses shooting thugs and saving government officials.

Yes he was flustered. Rendered speechless. Thrown off guard.

And that didn't happen to Mycroft Holmes.

Worse was that he didn't even know who she was. She was some random do-gooder.

Or would be if not for the advanced technical equipment she used. Even his best operatives weren't as well equipped. And that worried Mycroft. He didn't like being worried. His worries usually spelled trouble for not only himself but often for national security.

And so he set his best team to work on the issue. He wanted to know who she was, how did she find him and managed to help him and what was her agenda. Because Mycroft Holmes didn't believe in philanthropy.

What worried him more was that for weeks his team couldn't find more than the footage of her crossing a crowded street on a bike. And a satellite footage of her escaping from the warehouse. They didn't even have a clear shot of her face and thus were unable to properly identify her.

And so he was forced to bow to the inevitable. He arranged visit his brother.

'The answer is NO. I'm not interested. Most of those government cases you bring me are tedious and boring' Said his brother in lieu of 'hello'.

Mycroft sighed.

'Oh? A tough one is it?' Sherlock turned to look at his older brother. Mycroft looked calm and controlled but his body betrayed signs of tiredness and strain.

Mycroft pulled out a file from his briefcase. A surprisingly thin file.

Sherlock looked at it intrigued and snatched it from his brother's fingers.

He opened the file and found a couple of photos. Rather poorly taken and not very clear. A short police statement. A two page report on some field work and a few more pages with clear photos of the subjects' faces.

'What's this? A terrorist group? Some sort of a mob cell?' he asked thumbing through the pages and glancing at Mycroft.

An operative of mine went rogue. Came into contact with some terrorists and joined them. Not for the ideology but rather personal gain. Kidnapped me some weeks ago. His plan failed.

'That's all? Well then the case is solved. What do you need me for?' Sherlock asked, slightly annoyed that his brother was wasting his time on such nonsense.

'As you can see I was not harmed and was quickly retrieved. It was however none of my own operatives that arrived to the rescue' Mycroft walked to John's chair and plopped down, now visibly tired.

He pointed to the two blurry shots.' This woman rescued me. She witnessed the kidnapping and thinking me a random mugging victim followed Richardson's men to a warehouse where they took me. She somehow found her way in and into the hall where I was kept. All that in no more than 20 minutes from my abduction. Then she shot all the guards inside, as well as Richardson himself with tranquilizers and released me.'

Then Mycroft looked at Sherlock, perplexed. 'She looked to be in her twenties. She was delicately built, petite even. And she wore a dress, Sherlock. A dress.' For some reason Sherlock found the last statement amusing. He chuckled. 'You do realise Mycroft that women nowadays still wear dresses, don't you?' Mycroft sent him a scathing look. 'Not to fight with armed thugs I'm sure' he replied sarcastically.

He pointed to a photo of the woman on the bike. 'Look at her face. I know it's rather blurry but that's the best we have at the moment. Notice the glasses. They had some sort of display screen built into them. She was talking and had a headphone in her right ear. She either spoke to technicians or had a highly developed AI program online. From what I could see she had the building's layout on screen. Those blueprints are not publicly available. She must have hacked the city database. While riding a bike, Sherlock.' Mycroft was again a bit exasperated and Sherlock was more intrigued than he had been for at least a couple of weeks. Not many cases involved High-tech equipped spies. 'A spy or an enemy operative?' He mused. 'We don't know. Mycroft replied. 'When I asked about the equipment she said she had it because she was rich, paranoid and too curious for her own good.' Mycroft slumped slightly in his seat. As Sherlock looked at him expectantly.

'So what did your men find?' he asked impatiently

'Nothing' replied Mycroft. This time it was Sherlock's turn to be startled. It didn't last long however. He burst into laughter.

'You mean to tell me brother dear, that your team of operatives can't find a slight bit of a girl who's at the same time a high-tech equipped freelance agent whose loyalties you have no idea of? Oh good one, you brought me a good one this time.' Sherlock actually smiled at Mycroft.

The older Holmes bristled but said nothing. He stood righted his suit and put his coat back on. He left the file on Sherlock's desk and moved to the door. 'I shall be in contact then.' He said and descended the stairs of 221B.

'Don't bother! I'll text you when I have something' Sherlock called after him.

After Mycroft left Sherlock put on his cloak. Texted John at the hospital, to notify him of a new case and run out of 221B to get a taxi.

He slowly observed the street where the photo was taken. He noticed the industrial camera and noticed the narrow alley the girl must have came from. He followed the bike tracks he discovered two alleys down. They were very faint but traceable. He moved a few more small streets and alleys and arrived to where Mycroft was abducted from. He looked right and left and noticed a homeless man sitting in the alley not far from him. He pulled out a 50 pound note and walked up to the man.

'Did you sit here a lot?' He asked

'What's it to you, mate?' asked the ruddy man in return. Sherlock passed him the note and the dirty face cleared in a big smile. 'Now we're talking!' the man exclaimed with enthusiasm.

'So what do ye want?' he asked in a rather direct manner.

'I have to know if anybody saw a rather small, red headed woman running or riding a bike around here in the last couple of weeks' Sherlock went straight to the point

'There are many red heads around here' the man said 'and a couple of them ride bikes. Any specific red head?'

'She'd be doing weird things at times. Talking to herself? Suddenly running of? She'd be carrying a rather big bag around, too.'

The man looked thoughtful for a moment and then said. 'There was one. A couple of weeks ago I saw her with her shopping. She stopped and then dropped the bags and run off. She was rummaging in a bag too. I thought the bag was big for a slight thing like that.'

Sherlock nodded, holding his excitement at bay. 'What happened to the bags?'

The man smiled, showing his yellow decayed teeth. 'I don't think I remember. Ye know my memory isn't too good in such windy weather.'

Sherlock sighed and passed the man another note.

'I took 'em. Most was just food but there were some toiletries.' Sherlock stopped him impatiently. Where did the bags come from? Was there a brand name? Was it a specific grocer's?'

'Just regular Tesco bags. Nothing too fancy.' The man shrugged.

Sherlock turned and walked off. He pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

**Check the CCTV of the local Tesco. You'll find her there. SH **


	3. Chapter 3

Carolyn knew the man would be trouble even before she left the warehouse. As she was leaving, she decided to stay back in an alley for a bit and observe. The police arrived in full force. An anti-terrorist squad run into the building first with a mass of officers following. They escorted the man in the suit out to a black jaguar parked by the police cars. A dark haired woman in a designer suit stepped out of it and smiling slightly greeted the man as if nothing had happened with a warmly pronounced 'Mr Holmes'. And with that the jaguar was off. She got back home the roundabout way just in case and decided to lay low for a couple of days. Still she had no illusions, that man – Holmes, will want to know who she was. She decided she'd find him first. She had surprisingly little luck in that respect. Counting the days till he'd visit, for visit he surely would, him or a squad of his men, she decided he couldn't really do anything to her. Plus she wouldn't be intimidated into cowering in her room while he searched for her.

A few days later, and a couple of trips outside for supplies, she dressed in her favourite spy outfit, all black, and headed out. She knew she was discovered. Her first clue was the homeless man following her around and sending someone texts whenever she decided to stop or turn somewhere. Later she found him camped out in an alley across the street. He was definitely her tail.

Just because she couldn't find anything on The Man In The Suit didn't mean she didn't find a Holmes at all. Quite to the contrary. She found a Sherlock Holmes, the resident of 221B Baker Street. A Consulting Detective. As far as she was concerned after reading through the contents of his page he was a fancier version of a regular PI. Just a bit smarter. And a lot more mouthy. She laughed reading his "colleague's" blog.

Carolyn was an honest woman. Most of the time. But she didn't appreciate people digging in her private affairs because she tried to be nice for once and help a gentleman in need. Or Dandy in distress. Anyways she decided that the more direct approach was in order.

She called a cab, since the homeless man couldn't very well follow her that way. The cab took her to Baker Street. She knocked and waited patiently for someone to open the doors.

'Yes dear?' a nice looking elderly lady answered.

'I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes?' Carolyn said with her best friendly smile. The woman beamed back. 'Of course dear! Come on in, it's ever so cold these days. You'll catch you're death standing outside. Come on in. I'll make you a nice cup of tea.'

Carolyn smiled again 'No need to bother, I'll be just a minute, won't stay long. If you could just...'

'Mrs Hudson! Who is it?!' A male voice called down. A rather irritated voice. And yet a pretty, deep and melodious voice Carolyn couldn't help but like.

'Oh! That'd be Sherlock. He can be ever so impatient.' And turned to bellow surprisingly loudly for an elderly lady 'It's one of yours Sherlock! A client!' She turned to smile apologetically at Carolyn.

There came a rather derisive snort from a man hurrying down the stairs.

'I told you Mrs Hudson! No Clients! I'm busy at the mo...' He didn't finish as he saw Carolyn standing at the landing.

'Oh. It's you.' Was all he managed in a strangled voice. He suddenly seemed embarrassed at his state of undress. (He tried to cover his pyjama-clad self more securely with his dressing robe.)

She smiled at the man. He was tall. Quite a bit taller that she was. He had a mop of unruly hair and the most amazing pair of blue-grey eyes she has ever seen. But she didn't notice much resemblance to the other Holmes. He was too old to be that man's son, so she presumed brother.

She offered her hand and said 'I believe you have had me followed Mr Holmes, you or your brother, but my bet's on you' And she smiled again. He didn't take her hand so she dropped it. Her little introductory speech earned Sherlock a shocked "Sherlock, you had this lovely young lady followed? Shame on you!' from Mrs Hudson. The man obviously didn't appreciate it and so grabbed Carolyn's arm and tugged her after him as he ascended the stairs two at a time. Carolyn had to skip a few times so as to not fall down. He pulled her into a cozy day room and almost forcefully pushed her into a sofa. She sank down, rather amused by the whole situation.

He noticed her smirk and scowled. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded.

'I'm afraid it's your brother's fault' she said, still smiling. His eyebrow went up in doubt.

'You are far easier to track down than your brother, I'm afraid. And that's why I'm here. I'd much rather inconvenience you than have the tables turned on me and come home one day to find you at my kitchen table, sipping tea.' She was still smiling as it obviously annoyed him even more.

'That's more Mycroft's style, that or he'd kidnap you himself for some heart to heart talk.' He grumbled.

Aha! Mycroft. The Man In The Suit had a name.

Sherlock groaned. 'You didn't even get his name?' he asked incredulously. 'then how did you know he was my brother?' he demanded.

'Easy. You're too old to be his son.' She shrugged.

Sherlock never expected the girl to come looking for him. That was a surprise. He observed her now, all comfortable on his sofa, sipping daintily from her cup. She wasn't a beauty. She was pretty but not outstandingly so. The soft-looking pull-over was at least two sizes bigger and it made her look even more delicate. She had a fine bone-structure and an impressive muscle definition for someone her size. She was about 5'4'' and looked to be rather fit. Her dark clothing made her appear paler and her hair more red. And that was all. That was all Sherlock could tell. No other clues. Nothing. She was a book he couldn't read. He was sure it was intentional. But even the best cracked sometimes. He'd have her at some point.

'I believe it would be easier, if not for the both of us then at least for myself, if instead of ogling me to find clues to whether I have dogs or have eaten a breakfast yet you'd just ask what you want to know.' She said flatly. Sherlock's eyes snapped to her own.

'I am not ogling you!' he huffed indignantly.

She merely smiled. And then she rolled back her sleeve, where Sherlock could see a shiny black bracelet on her wrist. Only it wasn't a bracelet. She pressed her finger to the polished black surface and it gave a slight blip, flashed a light blue around her finger and a small holographic screen appeared, hovering over her wrist. Sherlock stared. He never before saw that kind of technology. Not in civilian hands anyway.

'Who are you?' he asked a bit of strain in his voice. Carolyn decided the small hitch in his voice as he demanded her identity was jealousy. She had nicer toys. Sherlock Holmes wanted those toys.

She ignored him, with her other hand managing the halo-screen. She found the number and called.

'Suzan, cancel those two meetings I had scheduled in the afternoon.' She demanded.

'Certainly miss Smithson. Shall I arrange for another day?' A cultured female voice responded. Sherlock wondered if this was the AI aid Mycroft told him about. He doubted it. The woman on the other side sounded like one of Mycroft's secretaries. They all did sound the same, really. He made a mental note of the surname, for later reference.

'Thank you Suzan. Have a nice day' the woman said to the faintly blue screen.

'Have a nice day miss Smithson' and with that the woman pressed something on her black device and the screen disappeared. She adjusted her sleeve and smiled at Sherlock.

'Don't be coy Mr Holmes. I'm sure you and your brother have all that figured out by now. I'm positive you could recite my biography to me anytime.'

And that was just the thing. He could. But her biography didn't seem too exciting. And there was no mention whatsoever of any high-tech engineering degree. The woman was a linguist from what the records stated. Mycroft put his best men to it. All they found was a nice university degree and a modest middle class background. There was nothing middle class about the woman seating on his couch at the moment. Her pullover was so delicate it had to be Kashmir. Her black flat shoes looked to be designer made.

'And I'm sure you know what we found in your records miss Smithson' he murmured angrily.

'Please, call me Carolyn' she smiled at him. 'And don't look so gloomy Mr Holmes I have...'

'Sherlock' he interrupted 'You can call me Sherlock' he explained, exasperated, at her brow arching with amusement. That reminded him faintly of Mycroft's habit of doing the same.

'Well then, Sherlock. I come bearing gifts. Well information, but either way, what I mean is ask your questions and I shall answer them for you. I'd much rather this be a friendly chat over tea than an interrogation in some horrid little room like you see on the telly' and she smiled at him again.

Sherlock wanted to strangle the woman. First he can't read her. Then she tells him to ask his questions. But he knew. Even if he asked, and even if she did answer, he'd probably not get the data he wanted.

'Who are you' he asked then.

'A student. At the moment I attend a culinary seminar.' She said merrily curling her legs beneath her. She looked all too comfortable there, Sherlock decided.

'A culinary student? With that kind of a gadget? Doubt it. Next question. Who made those for you?' And he tossed her a picture. It was a picture of her on the wild chase to save his brother. She noticed the glasses. He was asking about those.

'I made them myself' She declared. And Sherlock glared at her.

'You want me to believe that a trained linguist and supposed culinary student built this kind of high-tech equipment in her shed?' he asked incredulously.

She bristled. 'I didn't build them in a shed! I have a perfectly nice studio for that. I sometimes call it my garage. And I like to tinker. That's all. Too much telly as a child gave me a few ideas and I saw them realised. I always liked to put new things together. And since I have the means I support the development of new technologies. Sometimes I use them to enrich my own projects.' She said in a huff.

Sherlock only stared for a minute and then continued

'Exactly where did you get those funds then Carolyn' he asked venomously and gave her a tight smile.

She looked at him and smiled again. The man was simply to entertaining and she couldn't not tease him.

'I earned them of course.' She replies in an irritatingly cheery manner. 'Stock market and real estate mostly. I have a whole industrial sector too. But mostly Luck' and with that she sipped her tea again.

'Luck?!' Sherlock almost laughed, almost. 'You don't earn hundreds of millions of pounds with luck' he said annoyed.

'Well, no' she said calmly 'but you can expand on what luck first brought you. I won the lottery when I was at the uni. So I took the money and doubled them. Then tripled. And now it just grows.' And again, a smile.

Sherlock was beginning to hate those smiles. It felt as if she was smiling at a small child that was having a fit. He clenched his armrests. He hasn't been quite so unsettled since..., well for quite some time anyway.

'Ok, luck it is.' he conceded, 'and a lot of hard work' she quipped.

He changed the subject.

'Ok let's sum up – you're a linguist/future chef who at some point won and made a fortune and now you use it to create new-gen technology and then further use said technology to save innocent passersby?'It couldn't sound more sarcastic Carolyn thought wanly looking and the disgruntled detective.

And then she smiled and said 'that about sums it up, yes. Though, the saving part is not as regular as all that. I'm no super hero. Just don't like bullies. And I don't like to see people suffer.'

Sherlock gave up. He threw his arms in the air in his exasperation and went back to his bedroom. Shutting the door with a slam that reverberated throughout the house.

She giggled slightly, finishing her tea.

'Get out!' Sherlock bellowed from behind his closed bedroom doors.

She left him her card on the table. She scribbled _'call me'_

She put the cup in the sink and collecting her jacket and bag made for the door.

She confused Sherlock enough for one morning.

She saw the black jaguar parked in front of 221B.

She smiled.

Now it was time to deal with the older Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: Chapter 5 is on its way. Sorry for the delay, my MA project needed my undivided attention. Should, hopefully, update more regularly for a while now. Hope you like it. Leave me a line if you do ;) Any comments appreciated.**

Being somewhat of a loner Carolyn usually found it easier to relate to people who had little in a way of social skills. Like Sherlock. They tired of polite pretence quickly. Had no patience for social games. Those people tended to be more honest and more frank with others.

Mycroft Holmes represented the other end of the scale. Someone for whom interpersonal relations were a game. He was the sort of man who would smile at you, bedazzling you with his charm while you drank the tea he laced with poison. He had the ultimate poker face.

Being the ever-cautious woman she was, Carolyn decided to prepare a campaign that would, if not win her any warm feelings from Mycroft Holmes, at the very least ascertain her of his disinterest.

So she armed herself with the best weapon she had against a man such as him.

Mycroft had the woman put under surveillance the moment he knew her name. Her background check didn't reveal any shocking or gruesome details of her past, if anything, so far she seemed to have the most boring life possible. But. She endangered national security. He wasn't much concerned with her own actions so much as with what may happen, were her toys to fall into the wrong hands. And in this situation, wrong hands for Mycroft were any hands other than his own.

He had a terrible feeling he'd be hearing about those gadgets, when some mad psychopath decided to use them.

Or when his brother got to them. Not if, _when_.

So he had her followed. And monitored. And her phone tapped.

He had not expected her to notice. Even less so to have his brother tip her off.

But what he expected even less was her visiting Sherlock.

He didn't like it. In any way. He still wasn't sure what made him more anxious. The thought of the two becoming rivals or of the two, god forbid, becoming friendly.

The moment he heard of her visit to 221B he had the perimeter watched and had sent a car to collect her as soon as she set foot outside.

He instructed his men to bring her to his house.

He was in excellent mood that day. The perspective of a rare day off and a peaceful morning lifted his spirits considerably, only to have them soaring back down when his PA reported a visit to his brother.

The woman arrived later than he expected her. Or rather her passage from his brother's took her longer than he anticipated.

She had the driver stop on the way and went shopping. While his PA sat in the car as if nothing was amiss. Mycroft expected he'd be having words with the young woman in his employ.

When she finally made it he had her shown into the day room.

Oh but the woman was bad. Evil.

He had her picked up in an unmarked car, wheeled off to a destination unknown, with strangers in the car and what did she do? She made his driver stop so she could go buy cake.

Cake. Which she then brought with her.

Oh she was truly bad.

Gritting his teeth Mycroft smiled thinly and greeted her.

'Miss Smithson, finally we meet in more civilised circumstances' he offered one of his thin-lipped polite smiles and gestured to a chair, 'please, take a seat, we will have tea momentarily.'

And so they sat, facing each other, in a lovely sunny day room. None spoke, observing the other. Neither wanting to be the first to speak. A maid wheeled in the tea trolley. She sat the tray on the small table stationed between the two armchairs they sat in and then promptly left the room.

Ever the good host Mycroft poured them a cup.

Carolyn liked tea. She wasn't a great fan of Earl Grey but she could manage with a bit of sugar and lemon. There wasn't any lemon on the tray so she simply took twice the amount of sugar she usually did. Mycroft stared as she put four sugars in her cup. His elegant eyebrow rose in amusement.

Carolyn in turn pushed the box of cakes towards him. 'Pick one' she said, breaking the silence.

Again the eyebrow. She smiled lightly. There were four pieces of cake inside. It took Mycroft a full minute of concentration to decide on a piece of Sacher. The deuce take his diet. She chose a piece of the Bavarian Raspberry Gâteau. Mycroft's eyebrow climbed an inch more.

'What?' she asked, defensive 'I like raspberries. Plus it's not one of those things your brother does. I'm not going to attempt to analyse your character based on what cake you eat. And you best not do any of that either.' And with a warning look and a wave of her fork she took a bite.

Mycroft appreciated good food. He often enjoyed it. Or at least he used to before his physician talked him into that diet thing. But Carolyn Smithson's idea of enjoying her food was very vocal. The slight moan that escaped her almost made Mycroft choke on his tea. He looked up but his guest wasn't paying any attention to him. Deciding she wasn't playing any game he let it go without comment.

'I believe it would be best if we got right to the point Mr Holmes. I appreciate the niceties but I believe your time is rather precious.' She put down the fork and reclined in her chair.

En garde. Prêt. Allez. Lunge.

Mycroft smiled. She was bold and rather frank. It was refreshing.

'Indeed miss Smithson. We shall do just that, then. You are aware, I am sure, that our last meeting brought to my attention certain pieces of equipment in your possession. Equipment which, in my specialists' opinion, may, if used by the wrong people, threaten the safety of this nation. I am sure you will understand my concern.'

And Touché.

She giggled. Thunderation, the woman giggled.

Mycroft bristled at the reaction. She noticed and attempted to hold back. It took her a moment to calm down.

'Mr Holmes, I really do understand your concern. I do. But I'm sorry, your implications that I may be a weapon dealer or some sort of super spy or even more ludicrous, a terrorist, is frankly hilarious.' She eyed the man with a sort of rueful smile.

'You see Mr Holmes, what I told you in that warehouse was true. I really do most of what I do out of curiosity or paranoia. I have no designs on world domination, power plays tire me out and I already have more money that I know what to do with. So my little tinkering is really nothing more than a few gadgets designed to make me more safe, less bored and, mostly, entertained. But if it will make you feel better I propose a little experiment. '

Mycroft's brow climbed higher. He waited.

Carolyn did the same thing she did at Baker Street. She pulled back her sleeve and showed him another of her gadgets. This time though, she didn't use it but took it off and laid it on the table between herself and the older Holmes. The slick black bracelet lay there on the table, between then.

'Have your technicians take a look. If in the next two weeks they can work out how this piece operates, I'll agree that it may be potentially dangerous if used by the wrong people. If, however, they can't crack it you'll agree that my security measures are good enough and leave me be.'

And she sat back, enjoying her tea.

Mycroft sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose but called his PA to come and retrieve the gadget. He sent it straight to the technical lab.

'And your main operating system, miss Smithson? The one you used to crack the city's database? Is it as safe as your technology?' Mycroft asked from behind his cup of tea.

Carolyn was startled at first that he knew about Igor, but as she watched him observe her, she assumed it was a wild stab in the dark for the older Holmes.

She mimicked his raised eyebrow and asked "Why do you presume I have anything even closely resembling an original operating system?". And she smirked.

Mycroft felt like strangling the woman. This whole conversation resembled some sort of dance. He got closer to catching the girl only to find she slipped out of his grasp. All he could do at this point was resort to blackmail. And that was such a vulgar method. He was loathe to use it on such a worthy opponent. He had a strong feeling miss Smithson would do nothing to purposefully hinder him in his responsibilities. If he played his cards right he might even gain a rather resourceful ally.

So he smiled at her and said "Let us be honest miss Smithson, my concern is for the safety of the country, which I'm sure you understand. The continued safety of the country will in turn allow me to ensure your own safety if need be. Cooperation between us may prove fruitful for both sides."

She smiled politely and sat down her cup. She finished her tea. "With all due respect Mr Holmes. If I trusted in the protection the country provides for me, we wouldn't be speaking right now. What makes you think I would even consider working with you? You know I believe that anonymity provides the best protection" She parried.

He smiled again. He liked the girl already.

"Indeed it does, but if you prised your anonymity so much, why did you tangle yourself with a kidnapping? It was sure to bring you to notice, if not my notice then certainly to that of the authorities, if only because of all the speeding in crowded areas."

She winced.

"You know, you're right. My mother always told me good deeds will come back to bite me on the …" She didn't end her sentence because of the pointed look Mycroft directed at her. She blushed.

Mycroft in turn delighted at her genuine reaction. He especially liked the blush. It bloomed gently on her cheeks making her light skin take the shade of peach and cream. She looked lovely. He had to force his mind to stop thinking about her skin and back to the issue at hand. Another thing he hadn't done for a long time.

"Very well miss Smithson, we shall postpone this discussion for at least two weeks then. I shall however be in contact with you. For now I suppose you are free to go." He admitted defeat. One battle lost in a war and all that.

Carolyn smiled at him brightly. "Will do. I'll see you around then?" with that she jumped from her seat grabbed her bag and kissed Mycroft on the cheek before heading for the door.

Mycroft just stood there. Frozen in place.

Only after he heard the front door close he reached a tentative hand to touch his cheek, where she kissed him.

It was warm.

He glanced in a mirror over the mantle.

He was blushing.


End file.
